#2 Dangerous Games (18 page)

"Easy, baby." Clint turned her to her back, spreading her thighs before him as he lay between them, holding her in

ace as he stared up at her.

She cried out, even as her hand locked in his hair, holding rum in place. "I can't stand it, Clint."

His hands were ruthless, holding her thighs open, pressing her to the bed, refusing her the need to curl away from him, to accustom herself to the dark pleasure enveloping her.

She had never been invaded anally before. Had never known pleasure and pain could ride so close together.

He didn't answer her plea. Instead, his head lowered, his tongue swiping through the drenched center of her body before lapping at her like a man starved. Over her clitoris, around it, tormenting the already-tortured entrance to her pussy as she pulled at his hair. The vibration in her rear was sending hard, electric pulses of sensation up her spine, into her sex. She was stretched on a rack of sensation so intense she wasn't certain she could survive it.

This was Clint. Touching her. Taking her places she had never imagined with an extremity that canceled reality.

"God, you taste good." His voice was savage, intent, as he suddenly moved from her.

"Don't stop!" Her eyes flared open, desperation tightening her fingers in his hair as they tried to force him back to the weeping flesh burning for his touch.

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Clint pulled her hands from his hair. He came over her instead, stretching her arms above her as her fingers formed claws, her hips churning beneath him until she felt his cock hot, fierce, pressing into her.

Okay. Maybe this was better.

Then, as she felt the entrance struggling against his invasion, her breath caught. Maybe it wasn't.

"It won't fit." She couldn't breathe. The heavy, short thrusts that forced the thick erection inside her had searing waves of pleasure tearing through her vagina.

Pleasure. The pleasure was like a demon, devouring her mind, mixing with the pain, spiking both higher until she was certain she couldn't bear more.

And yet he gave her more. Threw her higher as her vagina tightened convulsively around his invading shaft.

"It will fit. Look at me, Morganna. Damn you, look at me."

His voice was darker, more commanding, than she had ever known it to be. She forced her eyes to his, staring up at him in dazed rapture as she felt him pushing inside her.

His expression was savage. Dark blue eyes glittered with lust and hunger; his features were taut, the flesh stretched tight over his cheekbones as a breathless scream left her lips and he forged into her to the hilt.

She felt tender tissue and muscle part for him, stretching to accommodate him, revealing nerve endings and pleasure her vibrator had never come close to matching. The ball ring slid over her flesh, caressing the internal muscles with a wicked little rasp. He felt huge inside her; the deep throb of heavy veins along his erection pulsed, adding to the heavy throb of the vibrating toy in her rear.

"Fuck yes!" The cords stood out on his neck as his head arched back, his gaze never leaving hers.

"You're so damned tight, I'm dying.... God yes, baby, milk my cock. Just like that."

Her vagina was spasming with the effort to accommodate him as the heavy vibration in her rear sent sharp talons of electrical impulses to attack her clit, her womb.

"I can't bear it." She couldn't breathe for the sensations. Every muscle, every cell, in her body was stretched tight, reaching, tortured with a need she couldn't make sense of.

"It's okay, baby." Sweat stood out on his lean face, his shoulders, as he shook his head, his erection still throbbing inside her. "It's okay. We're almost there. Almost there." And he began moving.

One hand held her wrists in place as the other lowered to lift her leg, pulling it to his hips as he drew back, then forged back, hard, fast.

"Clint..." Her eyes dazed, her breath strangling in her throat as she began to fight the rising, white-hot impulses of feeling exploding through her. Was it pleasure? Was it pain?

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"God yes, baby. Let me have you. All of you. All of you, Morganna." He groaned as he came over her, his hips pumping as sweat coated their flesh, the heat building, rising to the point that she was fighting it, fighting him, fighting the screeching, clawing animal of lust tearing at her womb, tightening it with a ferocity that terrified her.

She could feel every thick vein of his erection in her overstretched vagina, the slick drag of the golden ring with its center ball, the press of the flared head as it pulled back, raking the violently sensitive spot just beneath her clit.

"Sweet darlin'." His accent deepened. "Take me, baby. There you go. I feel you, darlin', tighten around me. Just like that. Just like that, sweetheart."

Everything inside her was tightening, burning, building.

"There you go, baby." His voice thickened further as his thrusts became faster, stronger. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you...Let me feel you...."

Liquid flames tore into the center of her body. Morganna tried to scream, to cry out, but no sound would emerge. The conflagration grew, intensified, until his head lowered, his teeth gripping the sensitive cord in her neck as his lips covered it, drew on her, and sent her exploding.

Her teeth locked in his shoulder, and she was certain she tasted blood as she felt the world dissolve around her.

How LONG HAD IT BEEN since he'd cried?

He needed to cry now, to ease the emotion tightening his chest.

As Clint eased the plug from Morganna's rear, he could feel the emotion ripping through him, tearing at his soul. She was damned near unconscious, a breathy little moan her only sign of awareness as the sensual toy slipped free of the tight grip her body had on it.

His hand smoothed over the side of her thigh as she lay curled on her side, her hair tangled around her shoulders, back, and face, sweat dampened and gleaming like wet silk. Unblemished. Unmarred. There wasn't a scar on her fragile body, but he could see the bruises rising beneath the creamy flesh.

He had bruised her. And her neck ... He lifted his gaze to where he had marked her. God, what had he done to her? He raked his hand across his face as he jerked from the bed, pacing to the bathroom, where he ruthlessly washed the plug and stored it in the protective covering he had bought for it.

He braced his hands on the sink when he finished, breathing in deep, hard, before he forced himself to
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stare back at his reflection.

He was surprised by the mark on his shoulder. Her sharp little teeth had pierced the tough skin in two places, leaving a small smear of blood across the primal mark. He lifted his hand, touching the sensitive spot as a bitter smile touched his lips.

It didn't make up for what he had done to her.

It was more than obvious her sweet rear had never been breached; she had never been taken with a hunger as deep as the one she inspired in him. Her eyes had been dazed, her face pale, but God, she had taken him. Growing wetter, hotter, clasping him inside her until he was certain he couldn't move, could do nothing but pump every ounce of his semen inside her rippling little channel.

Shaking his head, he jerked a washcloth from the side of the sink as he turned on the water with a vicious jerk. He dampened the cloth, wrung it out, and forced himself back to the bed.

He used the heated washrag to clean her gently, to first wash the uncomfortable perspiration from her neck, shoulders, breasts, belly, and back before he moved to her thighs. His semen marred the soft, flushed folds of her sex, slickened her thighs.

As he cleaned her, his throat tightened at the sight of it. He hadn't used protection. But he had never meant to with Morganna. He had been careful all his life; there was no chance of infecting her with anything but his own bitterness and no chance of pregnancy. He could live with his cock spilling inside her on an hourly basis, and she would never risk conceiving his child.

For the first time in years, the thought of it bothered him. He would never see her body ripen with his baby. But on the other hand, no child would ever suffer the hell he had known, either.

"Clint..." His name whispered past her lips as he pulled the blankets over her to protect her from the chill of the air conditioner.

She shifted on the mattress before settling in with a little sigh and sleeping again.

God, he couldn't do this.

He jerked a pair of jeans and underwear from his pack and stalked to the bathroom. He showered quickly, drying his body with rough, ruthless movements before dressing and heading back to the sitting room.

The small refrigerator held several hospitality bottles of liquor. He jerked them all out, uncapped the first, and tossed it back. Shit, he hated vodka.

Pulling his cell phone from its holder, he flipped it open and punched in Joe's number. The bastard better have some answers. He was getting sick of trying to figure out the impossible from this point.

"Hey, Clint." The other man's voice was weary as he answered the phone. "Are you secure?"

A frown darkened his brow. "Secure enough," Clint growled, the cell phone specially designed for secure conversations by a friend with a knack for electronics. "What's up?"

"Hell if I know," Joe snarled across the line. "Drage has closed down for the day and run off all his staff
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except his head of security. I suspect he's shifting camera angles. He's pretty pissed. Seems our perp knew the angle of the cameras."

"Masters knows about the operation?" His jaw clenched over the question.

"He came to us right after Morganna was assigned to the team," Joe admitted. "As far as we can find out, he's not involved, but we're keeping an eye on him. He's locked up tight this morning, though. He's not letting us in there until he's finished."

"Which tells me what, Joe?" Clint asked carefully, keeping his voice calm, neutral.

"Which tells you I don't know shit," Joe snapped back.

"It tells me you have a mole," Clint informed him, feeling the edge of violence pricking at his temper.

"Who is it?"

"Not in my crew-"

"Don't be a fool," he advised Joe softly. "I'm not. Find your mole or I'm going to start looking for him, and you don't want me to have to do that with Morganna in tow. If I have to offend her sense of justice by killing a few DEA agents to get the right one, I'm going to be pissed off, Joe."

It wasn't a threat, and by the silence on the line he knew Joe was aware of that.

"There has to be more to this," Joe finally snapped. "If they wanted to take someone out, they would have started with me or Craig, not Morganna. Taking her out won't stop the operation."

"She spotted three of their men drugging one of the women there last week. This is revenge. And someone on the inside is helping them." If Joe couldn't get to the bottom of this, then he would. "You can send your female agent home. Morganna will be working with me."

A hard, hissing breath filled the line.

"If she's compromised, they might not try to hit her again."

"They won't stop,'' Clint snapped. "Pull in all your men except your tech and get them in the bar from here on out. Cover our asses. If anything happens to her, Joe, I'll kill you. You know that, don't you?"

"Agreed," Joe said, his voice rough, frustrated. "I'll pull the team together and we'll meet you tomorrow night-"

"I'll call you before we meet. You and Craig can meet with us, then brief the rest of your team. Now, what did you find at Morganna's house?"

"We found the knife. No prints, but it was manufactured in South America. Bogotá, to be exact. I'm trying to get a trace from other sources now, but it will take a while."

South America. The Fuentes Cartel. He knew it.

Fuentes had used a very exclusive drug to dose the senators' daughters. Clint remembered the sight of those girls the night his team rescued them. Nearly naked, sweat-dampened, their pupils dilated. The
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oldest girl had been coherent enough to tell Kell that the soldiers were preparing to videotape their rape as incentive for their fathers to do as Fuentes wanted.

"Contact your head office. Get your best computer geek moving on the Fuentes Cartel, or what's left of it. The drug you're chasing was developed by them, so the lab, suppliers, and most likely dealers will be part of this. Someone left from that organization is trying to rebuild it, and they're using the videos to fund it."

"We've been working that angle, but nothing has popped yet." The frustration in the other man's voice was clear. "With Diego Fuentes killed, I'm leaning more toward a rival group than the Fuentes Cartel itself."

"Doesn't mean Fuentes didn't have an enterprising lieutenant smart enough to pull this off. See what you can pull up on the remnants of his cartel. Someone has managed to snag the drug, as well as a corner of his cartel here. Start tracing and see what you come up with. Some intel out of Colombia after we hit Fuentes was that before Diego Fuentes' old man died, his closest advisor, a man who went by his first name only, Saul, went into retirement. After Diego's supposed death, Saul disappeared from his seaside mansion and took a private flight to California. Intelligence lost him there."

"Damn. Intelligence in the DEA has no idea Saul left retirement." Excitement colored his voice now.

"This could be the break we're waiting on. How the hell did you know this?"

Interagency collaboration could be a bitch. The CIA had the information on Saul six months ago. Clint had acquired it from a team member currently investigating the rumor that Nathan Malone, the team member lost in Colombia, was still alive.